Such a frustrating disappointment

Bad Acting and worse Bad Screenplay

If the ambition is to provide two hours of instantly forgettable, popcorn-munching escapism, it succeeds.

It is an exhilarating, distressing, funny and profound film, with one of the more memorable film scores in years,

When Joseph Losey gets his hands on the right material he can do wonders with it. This doesn't seem to have been the right material, or maybe Losey was just impatient with Burton's boozing or something.First, don't expect a biopic of Leon Trotsky, the stormy petrel of revolution. The title describes the assassination of Trotsky. He's a professorial sort, exiled to Mexico City after Stalin took over and betrayed Lenin's principles by playing footsies with Wall Street. It often happens with extremist ideologies that they split up, because everyone wants to be purer than the next guy. At that, Trotsky was lucky to get out alive. Stalin had ANYONE who represented a threat to his power murdered. Stalin went about, doing bad.It's an unpleasant movie. We have to sit through a bullfight and learn why movies usually don't show us the final coup, after which the bull drags himself around vomiting blood until he flops down, while the crowd cheers. I know -- the bravery and grace of the matador and all that, but why don't they just let the bull go? Sometimes there is a thin line between beauty and baseness. I understand why the scene was included. The matador does to the bull what Alan Resnais does to Burton, more or less. And instead of dying a neat Hollywood death, Burton staggers up from his chair, a hole in his skull, stares at Resnais and shrieks bloody murder.There are long periods in which we watch Mexicans doing nothing in particular. And the scenes can be confusing. It's not always easy to tell what's going on. The musical score appears to have been made by a thousand chirping electronic crickets. Lots of talent and momentous intentions gone awry.

Avoid. Interminable opening crowd scenes of labour activists arguing as they parade in a clumsy attempt to highlight the passion of the schism. Romy Scheider and Alain Delon are strangely passionless and Richard Burton's Trotsky is on autopilot. Maybe they all just fancied a holiday in Mexico. There's no dramatic tension because there's no sympathy available for the characters on screen; instead the viewer is willing the whole ensemble to get on with it so that they can do something more interesting with their life like stare at fridge magnets or grout some bath tiles. ***** Spoiler Alert **** Trotsky does get assassinated. It's as banal as that.

This film has a reputation as a terrible film which I find greatly undeserved. It is average in the sense there are better films and there are worse. I found the film to be fairly static. The story is slow moving and the character of the assassin is never really delineated. Alain Delon is the true lead of the film, with Burton's Trotsky more a secondary character. I thought Burton did a fine job as Trotsky, the only think slightly bothering me is that Burton was physically imposing and that's not how I picture Trotsky. I picture him as more of a bookish intellectual of less than physically imposing attributes. (I do not know the actual physical attributes of Trotsky.) In any case, Romy Schneider is very lovely and sexy and the camera also treats Delon well, even if we do not have any clear insight to his motivation. In the end, I'm not sure what the purpose of this film was and that is its greatest failure. But, while the film did not succeed, there is nothing memorably bad about it. So my rating falls plum in the middle.

The one thing that everyone already knows about the assassination of Trotsky is that he was killed with an ice pick. Well, in this film, he is killed with an ice axe. An ice pick, an ice axe, they're not the same. To be precise, he is killed with the pick side of a two-headed ice axe, but even then, that's still not an ice pick, which is something entirely different. So which was it really?The only reason I'm belabouring this very trivial point is that it results in the single decent piece of acting in this film, the reaction of Richard Burton as Trotsky as he is hit in the head with the axe. As you would probably imagine, you have to wait quite a while to get to this moment in the film.Other than Burton, the film's leads are Alain Delon and Romy Schneider. Neither one is comfortable speaking in English, the language they are required to use here. Most of their scenes are together. Why weren't their scenes done in French instead?Since the presumable market for a film about that old villain Trotsky would have to be the European Left, why was this film made in English in the first place? Why not French, the language of the leads, or Italian, the language of the crew? Burton's bits in English as the self-important Trotsky could have been interpolated later while everyone else could have acted in a language in which he could show a little expression. As it is, no one would ever guess that Delon and Schneider are major stars under different circumstances. Schneider seems to be here mostly so she can stand and/or lounge in lingerie, but even that appetizing opportunity goes underexploited since, as a self-respecting Trotskyite gal, she doesn't wear any make-up.There are several "characters" in this movie who in any normal film would have speaking parts, but since they never did settle the matter of what language they were shooting in, these people just stand there looking stupid and not saying anything. Unbelievably, we are expected to care when one of these ciphers gets killed (cue the cheap-looking mannequin) by Stalinists, or Fascists, or Anarcho-Syndicalists, or anti-Castro Cubans, or the CIA, or whatever. Nothing that goes on in this movie is ever very clear. And anyone expecting to learn a little something about the historical Trotsky will come away with the knowledge that he kept bunny rabbits at home.Delon plays Trotsky's assassin, Jackson, "spelled without a k". He's Belgian. When asked why a Belgian has a name like Jac(k)son, he explains that he's really French-Canadian. Oh, well, that's clear. Most of the movie operates on a "duh" level much like that.It is safe to conclude from the preceding that some mystery surrounded the precise identity of the assassin. If that is the case, the hapless direction of the utterly inept Joseph Losey was entirely confounded by a notion like "mystery". Or "tension". He manages to convey neither. The film has very little cutting, and hardly any reaction shots. There is no indication of what one is supposed to feel at any given moment. Everything looks like it was one take and wrap.Losey is fond of this absurd set-up where two people supposedly have a conversation with one in the extreme foreground and the other in the remote background. Natural sound wouldn't work so there's some badly dubbed dialogue on top. It's an attempt at an "arty" shot that Welles might have done something with, but which is completely botched in the hands of a hack like Losey.I can't conceive of anyone deriving any entertainment or elucidation from this fiasco. Five minutes spent with any reputable biography are more illuminating than 100 in the company of this film.